The Wish
by alleyalice
Summary: First time of uploading, first fic on here. Just what some people wish for, wish they could have said and done. I've rated this as a T, I'm not overly sure whether that is correct but the subject matter may warrant it. Nothing belongs to me only my imagination. Enjoy, many thanks.


The Wish.

I wish I could have said so many things to him, wish I could have explained, wish I could have seen him up close one final time. I wish so many things but none of them happened, it all passed by so fast I never had the time to say, write or even send messages telepathically to him.

Now what would I have said, in reality nothing probably, I would have angered and confused him, he was angry and confused enough as it was, and me furthering those emotions wouldn't have been received too well. I should have said so many things to him, he was a good friend, but I think he knew that already, he had been a good conduit for me to challenge my own perception of things. He was the most understanding man I ever knew, and he accepted me for what I was, never tried to change me too much. He wanted me to be more social but I know that was only a façade. He didn't care if I was socially graceful and thank people appropriately, he just knew it was the right thing to do, and whether I really believed it or not, it was something I should do more. So I did.

Should I have told him I loved him? Well would he have understood that? I will probably never know, if and when I ever see him again those are the questions I will have answered. John will both welcome me home and berate me angrily or the door will be slammed in my face forever, I am afraid of the last, very afraid.

I wrote a letter to him and posted it a month before my return, I don't know how my "death" affected him until I return to England, and then I find out exactly how John coped. Not too well in the first year, he was a broken and sad man after I died. I felt regret for that and wished I could have made it better for him. I know he started to see his therapist again, what happened there is not known to me, Mycroft wouldn't tell me.

I am smoking again, standing outside 221B watching through the rain as John collects the post from the Postman as he delivers the morning post. I know my letter is in the collection of bills and other assorted junk, I know John will browse through them and save the familiar ones and possibly read the one I've sent, he'll recognise the handwriting immediately.

I wait, smoking yet another cigarette, I can feel my heart beating faster the rain is now seeping through my coat but I ignore it. I feel lost for the first time in three years, I feel numb for the first time in three years and I feel the need to be close to my blogger again. I missed him, I missed him speaking to me, telling me off, making me eat and sleep. I missed him being John, I loved my John. The letter skirts over a great deal it is brief and to the point.

Dear John,

I am sorry I did this to you, but you will by now know why, you are no fool

and you would have worked it out quite quickly. I am still sorry for the

trauma I caused, and that this letter will cause. I have to tell you so many

things, I missed you, I love you, and I want to come home.

Look out of the window John I am on the opposite side of the road.

Sherlock.

I stand and wait and I wait for what seems like eons, I feel the constricting pain in my chest and the low feel of anxiety in my stomach. I look down and light another cigarette, the front door opens and John appears, he beckons me over, and I cross the road slowly. I feel like I am walking through treacle, and that when I get there I will wake up in some dirty town in the middle of nowhere on a bed that was new in the sixties and has had several people die on it by the smell of it.

John looks at me, he looks a little older but he's still basically John, I try to keep eye contact but I can't it hurts too much. What will I do if he says no, where will I go, how will I survive without him, he kept me alive all the time I was away, it was all for him, everything was all for him. I throw away the half smoked cigarette.

A long time passes and we say nothing just standing awkwardly in the hallway, he finally lets me pass and shuts the door on the rain and the outside world. I want so much to say things to him but I am suddenly aware of arms around me pulling me into a hug I so desperately need and want.

I know finally I am back home, and my blogger loves me too.


End file.
